“I’m herding them upstream this morning to a high meadow. The ground there will be dried out enough to be safe. After so many days of rain, the grass will be tall and sweet.” She glanced back at the corral. “Something has Blue all stirred up. Maybe the smell of that smoke, but maybe the smell of the wild mares. With water running in this riverbed, your mom’s herd might be grazing near.”
I fidgeted with a piece of baling twine I’d pulled loose from the hay. I was anxious to get going.
Shimá frowned as if she wasn’t sure I was paying attention. “We’ve had a lot of rain, Tess. Unusual for this time of the year. Remember, it gives life and takes it. Water in some of the side canyons might be running high.”
I nodded to Shimá and then hurried over to Blue’s corral. I’d been hoping to get away early so Blue and I would have plenty of time to find the waterfall. This was my chance to get that handful of sand to send to Gaby. Being at the waterfall with my sister had felt sort of like being in our very own Neverland. Sometimes I swam in the pool while Gaby sat in the sand, quiet, not talking. The last time we were there together, we had written down our secret wishes, put them in a metal box that had a real lock and key, and buried it next to the pool. We had promised not to open the box until we each found our true love. That had been Gaby’s idea. I hadn’t said anything, but I wasn’t sure I even wanted a true love. Today I would find that waterfall, for her, for us.
“Come on, Blue. We’ve got the whole day. Plenty of time to have our own adventure.” I was pleased that the sound of my voice seemed to settle him down. I slipped on his halter, took my time brushing him, talking to him the whole time, waiting for Blue to relax before I snapped on the lead rope and led him out.
Shimá Sání was waiting in front of the hogan. She handed me her orange backpack. Every time I saw that glowing backpack and Shimá’s pleased face, I had to smile. What a color. Today it didn’t bulge with a watermelon. Darn, that would have tasted delicious. I slipped in the two water bottles I had filled at the spring.
Shimá nodded. “You are learning. Good, plenty of water.” She pointed to the backpack. “And plenty of cookies.”
“Thanks, Shimá.”
“Today I’ll take the sheep upriver and let them graze extra long. They’re hungry for grass. Watch out for quicksand near the main wash. Blue has enough mustang blood in him to know to stay on firm ground, but…be careful.”
“You be careful too.”
“Give Blue a good run. He needs it.” Shimá nodded. “You do too.”
—
As we walked downstream, the wash grew wider and more shallow. I was sure the waterfall canyon was in this direction, but I couldn’t remember how far. Shimá Sání was right—Blue was full of it. Wound up like a spring, prancing instead of walking. He sometimes shied, hop-stepping suddenly if a rock tumbled or a branch blew across the path. I thought about being on his back, loosening the reins and letting him run. What a wonderful terror it had been flying through the rain. No. I wasn’t ready to ride him today, not quite yet. The weird-looking sky made me jumpy too. Besides, I needed to watch out for quicksand and the side canyon that would lead to the waterfall.
Nearly an hour went by. I didn’t think Gaby and I had hiked this far from camp. But I had never paid much attention, since I always followed wherever Gaby led, busy with the guessing games she made up. Or we argued about some silly thing, maybe whether washing dishes was harder than drying, or whether folding clothes was worse than putting them away. We never decided which was stinkier: sheep poop or horse poop.
The wind had shifted from cool and breezy to hot and gusty, but the sky had cleared. If I could find the entrance to that side canyon, we’d have plenty of time to get to the waterfall and back before Shimá would start worrying. I remembered that once I got inside that narrow slot canyon, it was just a short way to the waterfall.
I was hot and already thirsty and hungry. Blue kept snatching at clumps of grass. Maybe we should take a break. I started looking for an overhang or alcove that would offer some shade.
Then I saw it: the giant cedar, old, with thick, twisted branches. “Blue, that’s it! That’s the entrance!”
Rocks and assorted debris had washed out of the canyon’s mouth and formed a high mound that partly hid the narrow entrance. The entrance was hardly more than a wide slot, as if a giant had made a cut through the wall of rock. I recognized one enormous boulder, bigger than a car. Gaby and I had climbed it, had stood on its slanted, slippery top, holding our hands up high like victorious conquerors, shouting to the cliffs, “Hail, royal queens of the universe!” Of course, she was the real queen, and I was only the princess.
I scrambled up the boulder’s side, slipped off Shimá’s pack. Blue sniffed it. “Let’s see what Shimá packed for us.” Being here was special, sitting in this same place, munching a sandwich and a few Oreos. Gaby would break open a cookie and give me the half with the sweet filling. She didn’t like that white stuff. I did. I’d make a trail through the layer of sugar with my teeth, then pop the whole thing into my mouth.
I counted the remaining cookies. Six. “I’ll leave two as my offering to the tree spirit and eat the rest at the waterfall.” I peered into the pack. “Here are your reins. Probably a good idea to slip these on now so I have better control. It might get spooky in there.”
I had no problem sliding the bit into Blue’s mouth. I buckled the reins and glanced at the sky. No change—clear and nearly cloudless, almost turquoise.
“OK, Blue, this is it. Waterfall or bust.”
We squeezed through the entrance, barely. Blue snorted and pulled back. He didn’t like going into such a narrow place. “I know what Shimá said about water in the side canyons, but it’s OK. We’ll be back out in no time.” I felt closed in too, as if I were walking into some weird trap. Part of me wanted to turn around. I never really liked being in narrow places, and slot canyons were the worst. At least this one was wide enough for both Blue and me to fit through. But the sides rose straight up as if sliced by a giant knife. I clicked my tongue and snapped the reins. Blue took a few steps forward. “Good boy.” I took a deep breath and patted his neck.
The canyon curved one way and then the other. For a while it narrowed to only a few yards across, but eventually it widened and became a large room, almost a cave, wide at the bottom, the opening at the top just a narrow slit. Only a crack of sunlight made it through. Now I was sure this was the waterfall canyon. I remembered how creepy this part felt and smelled—like a dark, stinky cave. The floor was covered in rubble—loose rocks and boulders with shallow pits of stagnant water. Blue stopped. I didn’t blame him. The sheer sides felt too close, sort of suffocating. The air smelled rotten.
“It’s OK, Blue. Just follow me.” I tried to sound confident. I wrapped the ends of the reins around my hand so I’d have a firmer grip. I listened for the sound of water. Nothing. I remembered how the canyon narrowed one more time before it opened into the sunlight. And there up on the cliff would be our waterfall.
“Craawk!”
Startled, I looked up. Nothing. And I couldn’t see blue sky through the crack anymore. Only clouds. Dark clouds. Lots of them.
My heart skipped a beat. How could the sky have changed so fast? Why hadn’t I noticed? We should get out of here.
“But we’re so close. Five more minutes max, I’m sure. Then we’ll turn around, Blue. I promise.”
Blue snorted, tossed his head, and began backing up. I pulled hard on the reins. “I’m not quitting now.” A cold, wet wind, strong and stinging, whooshed through the canyon, stirring up swirls of dead leaves and dust.
Blue jerked back.
“A little farther, Blue. I hear something; I think I even smell it. Water or wet earth, maybe that little pond at the bottom of the waterfall. Come on.”
We must be close.
Then something weird happened, something that felt like thunder, vibrations with no sound, as if the thunder were rolling through the ground beneath
us. Blue threw his head back, and his front hooves pawed his protest, kicking up gravel.
“Stop it.” I yanked hard. Blue pranced backward, kept stepping back. Then I heard it. Water! The roar of water. Boulders grinding against boulders. A wall of water was rushing down this canyon. Rushing right toward us.
I had been so stupid. I had ignored the warnings: Blue’s protests, the low clouds, the blast of cold air pushed by a wall of water. I looked for some way to get to higher ground. Maybe a ledge, tree roots, or a pile of boulders? We had to get out of here.
The ground shook beneath us, and the strange thundering grew louder, closer, like a hundred wildly beating drums. The crazed, cold wind tore at anything growing from a niche or crevice. Behind that wind was water.
Blue stood still, eyes wide, sides trembling. Suddenly he reared. The reins ripped loose from my hand. His hooves scraped, clattered against the canyon wall. He twisted himself around. My heart seemed to stop. Blue could make it out even if I couldn’t.
“Run, Blue!” I screamed.
But Blue didn’t move. He stood there trembling, waiting. Somehow I pulled myself onto his back. I wrapped my arms around his neck, buried my head in his mane, and screamed again, “Run, Blue!” This time he ran. We were racing. Racing toward the canyon’s mouth. Racing to stay ahead of the crushing water. I was jerked from side to side as Blue leaped over a fallen log, the roar of angry water coming closer, rocks rolling over rocks, boulders crashing against boulders. The canyon walls pressed in. Hold on. Hold on.
Then we were out. Out! A slap of cold rain hit me in the face. We were lunging through pelting hail. Water rushed out of the canyon, swirling, flowing thick beneath us. Blue’s legs churned, pedaled, splashed through the thick red rushing water. My face stayed pressed against him, my arms tight around his neck, nearly numb from holding on. Holding on.
Blue leaped from the stream’s edge onto a wide rock slab. He trembled, nickered, struggled up the closest dune. With each step, his hooves sank into the rain-soaked sand. He pulled them out, took another step. Slowly we made it to the top, above the rushing stream, to safety.
Blue’s sides heaved—his whole body heaved. We stood above the flow of water. I looked back. Thick mud bubbled out of the canyon’s narrow mouth, struck the pile of debris, and spread out. Shimá’s orange backpack, carried by the rushing muck, bounced from wave to wave, hit a boulder, and disappeared, sucked down into a spinning eddy.
Water swirled around the trunk of the cedar, rushed and splashed, spreading out over the wide shallow wash like an angry scar.
I rested my head on Blue’s neck, wiped away the foam dripping from his mouth, and whispered, “You saved me, Blue. You saved me.”
I cried silent, slow tears. Blue lifted his head, nickering, his throat quivering.
I listened as Blue’s heartbeat slowed and no longer hammered through his neck veins.
I sat up, half-laughing, half-crying, and sang out, howling to the canyon walls, “Yaaah, yaaah, yah!” Howling my thanksgiving.
The roar of the water had already subsided. The rain had softened to a gentle drizzle.
That quickly, the storm had passed.
I clicked my tongue. “Home, Blue. Let’s go home.”
chapter eighteen
moccasins
Shimá stood in front of the hogan, her eyes shaded with her hand. She watched as we approached, mud-covered and bedraggled. How long had she been standing there, waiting for us?
“You and Blue are safe. Alive and safe. I am thankful.” She pointed to Blue’s corral. “Rub him down. Put a wool blanket on him for warmth. Give him extra hay. I’ll wait for you by the sheep corral.”
I brushed Blue, scrubbed off the red mud caked on his legs, sides, and underbelly, and then rubbed him until he was completely dry. I stared at the mud in clumps around us. I picked up a handful, rubbed it between my fingers. Dirt and sand. Sand from the waterfall. What had Shimá said? Rain—it gives life and takes it. I stuck the sand in my pocket. Later I would put it in the beaded pouch I had made. I scooped up a handful of sweet oats, waited as Blue snarfed up every grain. “Sometimes we do get second chances,” I said to him. I covered Blue with a blanket. “Thanks again, Blue.”
Grandma stood by the corral’s gate. I walked toward her and saw tears glistening on her cheeks. Suddenly I was running into her arms, and there I collapsed, shaking. Shimá held me. She began chanting in Navajo, swaying back and forth ever so slowly.
“Shimá, Shimá, so much water, so much mud. I thought…”
“You are alive. I saw the storm clouds, saw how low and dark they were. I knew you were looking for your sister’s canyon. I was afraid I had lost you.”
Tears spilled down, and I remembered. “Your new backpack. I lost your backpack.”
Laughter. Shimá was laughing. “Oh, my very favorite new backpack? Good!”
I laughed too, and suddenly I felt joy. Pure, wonderful joy. I stepped back, looked at my grandmother, and said, “Blue saved me. He saved us.”
Shimá nodded. “We will thank the spirits. We will give our thanks.” She pointed to one of the lambs in the corral. “That one. Catch her and bring her to me. We will celebrate and give thanks for life. Yes, for your life.”
I knew what was coming next. But this time I wanted to help with everything, even the hard part. I was alive. Blue had saved us. I caught the lamb, held her against my chest with her legs tucked under, and began talking to her like Gramps would have, rubbing her forehead and stroking her neck.
I sat down, held the lamb close, and kept talking while Grandma walked to the hogan to get the things needed for butchering. Talking also kept me from remembering the sounds of water roaring and Blue fighting to climb out of the sucking swirl.
“Tess, face the lamb toward Big Sheep Mountain, Dibé Nitsaa. We face that way, Náhooksjigo, toward the northern mountains, the home of our predators: the coyote, lion, and bear. We do not hate them. They take their share, and we take ours. We respect one another.”
The lamb lay still against me without moving or squirming. Her warmth felt good, felt safe. I closed my eyes and heard the fluttering beat-beat of her heart. So many different kinds of heartbeats, drumbeats. Life and death. Sometimes we do get second chances. Lady Dickinson, who holds the reins of the carriage horses?
Grandma held out her knife. I took it from her. A shiver of cold swept through me. The knife fell, landed with a clank. The lamb jerked.
“No worries.” Grandma took the lamb. “You will be my helper.”
I pressed my hands over my eyes. The bright sunlight made everything—the whole day—feel strange, almost like it was too close.
By the time I looked again at Shimá, the lamb lay lifeless in her lap. The pail was full of foamy red blood.
Shimá had chosen a lamb from one of her prize Churro ewes, sheep with tough wool and lean bodies. Yarn made from a Churro was strong. Their meat tasted sweet and mild because they had so little fat. But Churros were a challenge, Shimá said, because they found ways to escape the corral. They wandered, and they climbed up the steepest arroyos and refused to return. Sometimes the wild part in them won. Churros were her favorites.
“Tess, you can look away as I cut the meat.”
“I’m OK now. I want to help.”
Shimá Sání made a clean straight cut down the sternum and opened the lamb’s chest. A thin layer of fat pushed out. “Fat coming out of Big Sheep Mountain,” Shimá said, smiling. “The white fat reminds us of the clouds. When the clouds spread across the sky, rain is coming. Always we are praying for rain, watching for rain.” She kept working the skin loose from the lamb’s muscles. “When rain is plentiful, grass is plentiful. The sheep grow strong. Rain means survival.” Shimá looked at me. “But it also means danger. And so we learn.”
I looked down, embarrassed to have been so foolish.
Shimá paused, picked up several spruce needles, and rolled them between her fingers. She breathed in their spicy aroma and then he
ld them under my nose. “We smell the green of the spruce and give thanks.”
Shimá continued cutting with quick flashes of her knife. “Nothing is wasted, not even the hooves. They’ll give a good taste to the stew.”
Shimá opened the belly and removed a shawl of fat wrapped around the intestines. “As soft as any wool blanket. And already warm!” She chuckled and gave it to me. “Drape it over the tree branch, next to the hide, wet side out.”
It was heavier than I expected, and it slipped out of my hands.
Shimá pointed to a bucket of water. “Wash it first. We all make mistakes. Only the Creator is perfect.”
—
That night we feasted on lamb ribs and stew. I ate until my stomach hurt.
After dinner Shimá stood up. She rummaged through one of the supply boxes and took out two packages. She placed them on the table. “For you.”
The first package was from Frank’s Dry Goods. I thought about all the odds and ends sold there—pots and pans, flyswatters, fabric, Western clothes, calendars. This was a shoe box. I looked suspiciously at Shimá.
“Go ahead. Open it.”
I did. “Sneakers?” Maybe she had given me the wrong box. “Lime-green Day-Glo sneakers? For me? Really?”
Shimá Sání’s smile grew wider. “Brand-new, never been worn.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to hurt my grandmother’s feelings, but I didn’t want to wear glowing-green sneakers, not even in the canyon.
“Green is a handy color. You can always see your feet.” Shimá sounded very serious. “So you always know where you are.” Then she began laughing. “Tess, no worries! I bought them in my size. In case you don’t like them.”
“Your size? But my feet are way bigger than yours….” Suddenly I got the joke. I grinned at my grandmother, whose whole face looked entirely happy and satisfied. “OK, you got me with this one.”
“Yes, you are understanding Navajo. Laughter is healing.” She pushed the second box toward me. “Now open this one.”
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